I always kind of scratch my head when people talk about not wanting a dog because they like sleeping in.
I’m willing to believe there are early-rising dogs! (And yeah, house-breaking a tiny puppy involves a certain amount of wee hours. So to speak.) But my dogs have never been the sort. The old man understood the snooze alarm; he’d crawl under the covers for those extra seven minutes of snuggling.
Left to her own devices, Lilo would fall into bed around sunset and not get up until noon the next day. I know this because I’ve watched her do it for days on end. She never, ever thinks it gets old. She does get a little bit nutty if she’s shorted on exercise during those daylight hours, as during the disaster that was New England’s winter last year. But we’re not even talking “dog adjusts to lazy human’s schedule” here. She needs her beauty sleep. It is entirely possible that the hardest part of my going back to work for her was the part where she has to sleepwalk outside at some point before 7am.
She’s starting to settle into the routine. She usually appears downstairs while I’m in the shower. I know this because her breakfast disappears (and then she goes back up to bed). There are only two things that make her spring up joyously in the morning.
The first is me asking, “You wanna go for a hike?”
The second is apparently the sound of the frying pan.
Most mornings I make a scrambled-egg sandwich. And in my house, dogs that attend politely to the chef get scraps. This grand old tradition dates back to my childhood Lab (aka, the Best Dog) who would recall to the sound of vegetables being chopped.
I’m not even sure how she hears the pan over her snoring but every time I break it out, Lilo trots right into the kitchen before the butter even melts. She gets her scraps, she goes outside, and off I go to work. Never fails to make me smile and that’s a good way to start the day.
The only trouble is, some days I have peanut butter toast instead and the jar doesn’t make the same sound.